


Seasons Turn

by SeaPinecone



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Father Figures, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fucken parallels man, Hurt/Comfort, There will be angst later, Touch-Starved, anyone have links to earlier revolution streams bc i miss it, foreshadowing pog, leave it in comments if yes, this is all platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29181195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaPinecone/pseuds/SeaPinecone
Summary: Curly brunet hair was painfully untangled as he raked a comb through his hair. The comb was eye-catchingly lemon yellow. Wilbur folded his amber jumper lay it to rest on his chair, before reaching up to straighten his collar.The L'Manberg uniform was pristine, ironed. It felt stiff and uncomfortable wearing it, but its rigidity wrapped around him warmly, forcing him to slow his breath and stand straight. Comforting, despite how uncomfortable it was. His thumbs traced the snow collar as he gazed at his reflection."Hello, President Soot." He greeted quietly
Comments: 27
Kudos: 32





	1. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluffy stuff

Curly brunet hair was painfully untangled as he raked a comb through his hair. The comb was eye-catchingly lemon yellow. Wilbur folded his amber jumper lay it to rest on his chair, before reaching up to straighten his collar.

The L'Manberg uniform was pristine, ironed. It felt stiff and uncomfortable wearing it, but its rigidity wrapped around him warmly, forcing him to slow his breath and stand straight. Comforting, despite how uncomfortable it was. His thumbs traced the snow collar as he gazed at his reflection.

"Hello, President Soot." He greeted quietly.

"Wilbur?" Sunlight flooded into the Camarvan, a blond boy barging through the van, door slamming, the boy jumping at the noise. Wilbur turned, giving a stern questioning look.

"Tommy, you scared yourself you slammed that door so loudly. And, I have privacy, just like you."

Tommy froze, confusion and deep thought stretching across his face in a frown, before glancing at giving a fast nod.

"Yes, President Soot."

"Don't call me that." He chuckled, grinning, ruffling Tommy's hair. The blond returned the smirk, entire face grinning lopsidedly.

"What's with the haircut?" Tommy pointed at his hair, neatly tucked behind his ear.

"A president needs to look presentable, Tommy. If they think you cannot care for yourself, how will you care for a nation?" Wilbur nodded, Tommy tugging at a blond lock thoughtfully. His hair was a mess of mud, leaves, and knotted aureate curls, and Tommy seemed to inspect his hair like a scientist, squinting.

"Oh. Do I need a haircut?" The boy reached for a knife on the table, his hand smacked away by Wilbur.

"Not with the knife, Tommy. Scissors will do just fine." He commanded, taking scissors from his desk and chucking them at Tommy. He caught them clumsily, face crestfallen after Wilbur had slapped his hand.

Tommy's hands held the scissors tightly but incorrectly, snipping his hair with no order, with the certainty of a fool.

"You are cutting it like an idiot." Wilbur said, turning back to his reflection.

"Why? Why not? I look great!" Tommy whined shrilly. Wilbur rolled his eyes and combed his hair for the fifth time, knowing fully it was perfect.

His thoughts seemed to sweep away his mind, and he let himself sink into the comfort to security. His country was a thriving community. Green tussocks of grass, the swaths of redwood trees, cooling the earth with soft shadow, the scent of flowers blossoming in late summer, the hum of bees whirling through the air, sailing from rosebush to rosebush. Even inside the Camarvan, he could smell the sweet air trickling through the windows. _My home is beautiful_. He watched his face melt into a smile, zoning in to hear the snip of scissors and Tommy's struggles.

"No, not like that." He ushered the scissors from Tommy's grip.

"First, you comb it. To make sure it's even." He instructed offhandedly as he worked, combing the grime out of the boy's hair, ignoring Tommy's impatient squirming.

"Tommy, you need to wash your hair more, or stop rolling in dirt." He laughed, the third huge clump of dirt falling out of his hair.

"S'not my fault it's so damn rollable in." Tommy muttered, a giggle tumbling out his lips a moment later.

"Then, since we have curly hair-"

"I ain't got curly hair, it's wavy!"

"Ok, wavy hair. You need to use the comb to stretch it out. And then cut!" He snipped at Tommy's hair.

"And you do it to all your hair, until it's the same length. Count the measurement with your eyes or fingers." He continued to cut at Tommy's hair, blond wisps fluttering to the ground.

The birds chirped outside as he trimmed, and Tommy hummed along with them, horribly out of sync and tune.

Wilbur swept the trimmed hair away. He grabbed the mirror, handing it to Tommy.

"There. Done! See? If you let me do it for you, it actually works out!" Wilbur huffed, amusedly watching Tommy's expression melt into awe as he inspected his cleaner, unknotted hair. Tommy gazed at his hair, a grin spreading across his face.

"Thanks, Wilbur."

Wilbur gazed at the reflection for a moment, him standing behind Tommy, Tommy's stunned face, their matching haircuts. Then he turned to the brewing stands, clinking the bottles.

"How about we take some swiftness pots and have a race?" Tommy's whispered mischievously.

"Tommy." President Soot eyed the potions. He wheeled around.  
  


"You just read my mind."

\------

The grass was flattened under his feet as he shot through the undergrowth, barely a metre behind Tommy, the teen having the advantage of ducking under branches easily. Clusters of mites pattered against his face, and he spluttered, waving them away, feet slamming harder against the earth.

"Suck it, bitch!" Tommy wheezed, vaulting over a rotting log. Wilbur gritted his teeth and shoved his feet into the ground harder, lessening the gap with every step. He squeaked as his hands slipped on damp moss the coated the fallen tree, landing heavily, body swinging forward even faster with momentum.

Tommy started leaning right, ready to wheel the corner, blond hair flapping like grass in a hurricane. One, wild thought. He shook it away. But... it would mean he would beat Tommy. He silently apologised to his suit, and threw himself forward. Wilbur hugged the corner, splashing through mud, overtaking Tommy as he did so. He gave Tommy a grin and stuck his middle fingers up, taking the lead. He flashed between trees, yelling behind him through panting breaths.

"Suck it, blond boy!" He gasped for air and exploded from the woodland. He flew over the grass, Tommy barely behind him, and slammed his hand on the Camarvan door, so hard the door shook, and his hand went numb.

Wilbur leaned against the Camarvan, letting it take his full weight, sliding down the wall onto the steps, vision blurry. Through his swimming vision he could see Tommy pouting, scrunching his nose up in defeat. His cheeks hurt from grinning so widely, and the muscles felt like they would never relax.

He took several breaths before he could speak, swiftness effects wearing off. He nursed his injured hand. _Sacrifices for victory_. The thought came with a silent chuckle.

"Well, well, well. Look who won that one."

Tommy groaned at Wilbur's smirk.

"You only won 'cause you cut that corner."

Tommy muttered, before looking at him with a wide smile and a sly glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, I messed up. But wait 'till next time, old man."

"I'm literally..." Wilbur didn't have the energy to finish his sentence, just sighing, melting into the steps. The stone was warm from sunlight. _Soothing_. He felt a very small smile tug at his lips.

His eyes fluttered open, the gaze of the dying sun painting his eyelashes amber. The sky was painted scarlet, the blackstone walls a soft, warm grey. The trees rustled, leaves glimmering lime. L'Manberg's familiar scent of peat and redwood caressed his cheek, swept by the cool summer breeze. A bee landed on the dandelion shivering near his face.

"Tommy," He whispered.

"Yeah?" Tommy's voice was raspy from running, his voice a metre away where he was sat cross-legged on the grass.

"Grab a jam jar."

Tommy instantly got up, feet softly thudding on the grass, and reached into the van and grabbed a jam jar.

Tommy slowly coaxed the bee from flower to jar, putting the lid on, peering to check the breathing holes were unclogged.

"It's a bumblebee. Fuzzy 'n' shit. Tubbo'll be super happy, his collection's gone down recently." Tommy murmured, standing and walking over to Tubbo's bee enclosure.

Wilbur sighed.

  
"I better wash this suit. It's fucking soaked in mud. But it'll wash out well enough." He shrugged, heaving himself to his feet, Tommy waving dismissively as he walked.

The dying light of L'Manberg caught his eye. He turned to the sun _. Beautiful. It's beautiful over our L'Manberg_. He gazed at the fiery orb until it hurt his pupils and he cried slightly from the pain of staring into the sun, rubbing the fiery imprint from his eyes. _I love my home_. His eyes blinked open, and he smiled.

_L'Manberg._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments! please leave em! keeps me motivated ;0


	2. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father n Son, awww.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // cw knife mention, war mention, mostly just fluffy father/son stuff rlly :))

"Fundy!" His son looked at him with bright eyes and a huge smile. Wilbur felt himself melt. He ruffled his ginger hair.

"My little champion, you need to be safe, okay." He slowed his voice and made it soft. He wanted to wrap his child in a blanket of warm voices and gentle tones forever.

"I know Dad!" Fundy exclaimed, throwing himself into the grass and charging through the hills, rolling in the dirt.

"Son, no! Your uniform will..." His voice slipped away and he just sighed, not realising he was grinning until his cheeks ached. Fundy was playing in the mud, his pastel purple uniform Wilbur had sown out of spare cloth was being splattered by mud. But that's part of him being a kid. He needed to be a kid.

President Soot turned. He spotted someone racing towards him, blond hair glinting in the sunshine.

"Wilbur!" Tommy yelled. One anxious glance at Fundy, playing in the mud, and Wilbur nodded, shushing Tommy and speaking quietly so Fundy wouldn't hear.

"What's wrong? Is Dream advancing?"

Tommy panted, spluttering in deep breaths.

"No. But he's left signs."

"Show me."

Tommy jogged, and Wilbur strode with him, to L'Manberg's entrance. Three oak signs stood ominously in the doorway. Written in separate, messy handwriting, were messages. They were ingrained into the wood with ink and, from the deep wounds that stretched across the planks, a knife was used to hack the letters into the oak.

Tommy began to read the signs loudly, wringing his hands nervously. Wilbur put a hand on his arm and hushed him. He gestured towards Fundy. Tommy gave a nod of understanding.

His eyes ran over the words, a shiver trickling down his back as he did so.

  
"You will give up by dawn, tomorrow. You will walk out, hands up, and surrender all weapons. You will disassemble L'Manberg, permanently. You will pay fees as compensation to us. Or you will be obliterated. All of you, no matter how old."

Wilbur trembled, taking a deep breath. He buried his head in his hands, scrubbing his eye bags as if he could wipe them from his face. He let himself rest in the darkness of his closed eyes. For a moment.

"Uh... Wilbur?" Tommy asked. Wilbur forced his eyes open, gazing at Fundy, ignoring Tommy for a moment. _Our L'Manberg_. His soul grazed upon the sunlit grass, the atmosphere of peace. _Under my rule._

He smiled. _My son..._ An instinct so deep within him rose from deep in his belly, swamping him. _Love_. He scrunched his nose as he fought back hot tears. _I can't cry. What will the citizens think?_ His bit his lips, hard, to avoid the tears. The mere thought of Fundy being hurt... it was more than he could bear. He glanced back to his right-hand man.

"Then tomorrow, we will fight for L'Manberg."

Tommy opened his mouth to object, but Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

"That is an order. Summon our citizens, and prepare them for war. L'Manberg isn't surrendering. I will die with honour, and leave my son a legacy, or I will live with bravery, and nurture him a country."

Tommy gave a brisk nod of agreement, rushing away. Wilbur turned back, only to find Fundy right behind him. He was small.

"Hello little champion, how long have you been there?" He coaxed sweetly, giving him a hug as he hid his surprise and dread that Fundy had heard it all.

"Dad..." Fundy ignored his question, standing still and unmoving as his father hugged him.

"Yes?"  
"You won't leave me, right?" His son's voice trembled. Wilbur pulled back to look intensely into Fundy's eyes. They were orange, like his mother's scales.

"I won't." He traced a slash mark across his heart in an oath, as if he was tracing a stab wound.

"My son, I love you. I will never leave you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that one ;0 the angst is on its way, dw. Also, Kudos and comments help me so much, even if it is just a little :D or "you're doing great!" :) please


	3. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stress was getting to him.
> 
> (more family fluff to set up for the had hitting feels. writing pog)

Wilbur sank into stress. He took a few gasping breaths. Sometimes the stress, the responsibility, made it feel like it was crushing him to the point he couldn't breathe properly. He had determined it was just stress.

He glanced up from the map with chess pieces of Dream, Tommy and him to look in the mirror. His frown had left deep notches in his face, bags that looked like bruises sat under his eyes.

The stress was getting to him.

He pored over the chess pieces. _Dream could push our south border, but that would leave him open and vulnerable. From his standpoint, it would be better to attack from the west, but only if he didn't know his old TNT is still rigged there, and we can use those as traps..._ He swept his hair to the side, combing it for the fifth time today. He was beginning to feel as though it was falling out. _And they'll probably threaten to hurt my son, too. Hit me where it hurts_. He traced his exhausted face, heart aching at the thought of losing Fundy.

Hung on the wall of the Camarvan was not only their decoration, but, sloppily pinned against their wall, was a piece of paper Tommy had written after Niki demanded he write one nice things about someone after misbehaving. Out of everyone, he had chosen Wilbur. So, scribbled on the torn and stained paper, was inscribed: _WILBUR, you ar my hero >:( -Tommy_

Wilbur gazed at the note. He felt a mixture of pride and bile rise in his throat. Another person to let down. Just a few days ago, Jack Manifold had argued with Tubbo over some steak. Wilbur had failed to resolve the conflict and refused to give his spare food to them. Tubbo had only just started speaking to him again.

It leaked into his speech with others. He constantly reminded Tommy that history had its eyes on him. But he knew damn well it was staring at him, too. He was meant to be the hero. The person who had the answers to everything.

He knew that wasn't realistic, but some part of him still whispered, every night as he slept, _you've failed_.

He continued writing the document, wrist growing weary with every cursive letter. He was almost done, and then he would have a break earned by his hours obsessing over this file.

He hardly noticed a knock and the creak of a door behind him.

"Dad!" A wobbly voice came from behind him. Wilbur watched his own reflection melt into a smile and soft eyes, turning to Fundy.

  
"My little champion, how are you?" Wilbur exclaimed.

"I-I'm sad." Fundy pouted. Wilbur reached forward comfortingly.

"Why?"

"B-because Quackiity keeps taking Button." He whimpered. Wilbur nodded, and glanced out the window to find Quackity sheepishly holding Fundy's toy named Button. He beckoned him in with a flick.

"Quackity," Wilbur said sternly.

"You stole from a literal child. My son." He continued. The other man looked askance.

"I mean... yeah. He wasn't sharing."

Wilbur's gaze sharpened.

"He made the toy, and it's his. He gets to decide what to do with it. Give it back." Quackity gingerly returned the toy, Fundy squealing happily as he did.

Quackity laughed lightly.

"Ha, I hope you won't hold it against me I stole from your son."

"Alex Quackity... sometimes your mind is confused. Sometimes you have a tendency to not think about how others will feel before you act. But your heart is in the good place. I won't hold it against you." Quackity beamed at him with a silly grin.

"Thanks, President Soot." The nudist then raced out the van.

Fundy was still sniffling.

"Hey my little champion. How can I make you feel better could I do... this?" He wrapped his arm around Fundy's waist and lifted him up, spinning him as Fundy let out hysterical screams of excitement and laughter. He placed Fundy down with a grin. His son smiled back up at him.

  
"I love you, Dad!" Fundy declared as he skipped out the van in pursuit of Quackity. _Quackity... strange. Not European. But trustworthy. Reliable_. Wilbur smiled.

_L'Manberg is worth all the stress._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated! Stay hydrated, humans!  
> (the next TWO chapters are already written, will be uploaded tomorrow and the day after).


	4. Winter is falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal :(

Quackity, the person he let into his home, sneered at him. Schlatt, _his own supporter_ , who he had hired, was looking at him as if he hadn't stabbed him in the back.

"What'cha gonna do, furry boy?" Quackity jeered. Wilbur glanced at his son. The presidential election was making him want to tear his hair out. _My nation is counting on me... my son is counting on me_. He had to be strong, for his son. He glanced at his little champion. _All for you... we cannot let these people win. Our blood is stronger than theirs could ever be._

He wrapped an arm around his son, though he was too big to do it like he had when he was a child.

  
"Don't talk to my son that way." Wilbur spat.

"Or what, _Pwesident Soot_?" They continued taunting.

Wilbur opened his mouth to respond, but Fundy leaned close to his ear.

  
"I can fight my own battles, I don't need to trying to keep me from success because you still see me as a child." He felt his son hiss into his ear. Wilbur turned to his son in shock, who was pulling away from him, walking over to Schlatt.

  
"Yeah, or what, _Pwesident Soot_?" Fundy snarled. Wilbur's mind reeled.

Fundy looked at him in a way that made him cower. Eyes of blazing cold. The softness of his son's eyes had long since abandoned him, tiny pupils and eyes plastered open as if he didn't dare take his cruel eyes off his father. _Like he doesn't trust me_. That shook Wilbur to his core. Wilbur felt his heart crack, extending his fingers towards Fundy. _Please take my hand. Please, I don't want to fight you. We are more important than politics_.

"My son..." He whispered. His throat was raw, and he didn't realise he was crying until his shirt was damp. _Love me_.

"Love me." He commanded, voice cracking. His child never complied, but if he wasn't responding to his begging, maybe he would respond to a demand.

Fundy stretched his arms and took a step towards Wilbur. And another. _A hug?_ He felt tears turn to choking sobs and he melted forward.

"My sweet little champi-"

"No." Fundy took a few steps back, smirking as he looped his arms around Schlatt and Quackity.

"I..." His hand traced his chest, where he had sworn an oath to his son what felt like forever ago. He wanted to soothe the feeling that his heart had just jarred to a stop. He wanted to erase his heart. To tear it out.

"I'm with Schlatt, Wilbur Soot." _That's not my name to you. My name is Dad..._

"F-fine. I... I am done. So be..." He needed to breathe. He felt dizzy.

Quackity, the person he let into his home, sneered at him. Schlatt, _his own supporter_ , who he had hired, was looking at him as if he hadn't stabbed him in the back.   
  


"So be it."

The man that looked at him with cold eyes was not his little champion. It was just... Fundy. _The fucking traitor_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap tomorrow ;0   
> kudos and comments keep me motivated so much, please leave some!


	5. Winter falls deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We skip forward to the beginning of the Pogtopia arc. Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy are living in the ravine. Winter had fallen. And it's freezing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw// sickness, passing out
> 
> hurt/comfort chap let's goooooooo

The ravine was riddled with cracks that let a chilly wind slither through.

Wilbur was shaking. His fingers were bluish and his knuckles bone white. Thin. Jaunty. He licked his lips, but there was no moisture in his mouth to soothe his chapped lips. All he did was taste blood. Painfully, he swallowed. His throat felt sticky.

His eyes flashed from his hands to the floor behind them. Grey. He spun on his feet, turning his gaze to the rest of the ravine, slamming his hand against the wall as a bout of dizziness swamped him, his fevered sweat trickling down his jaw.

His vision blurred.

"Wilbur?" Tommy's voice was hazy from behind him.

"Yeah?" He gasped through breaths he hadn't even realised were laboured.

"Are... are you okay?" Tommy's voice was small. _Like a scared child_. Wilbur grinned, sweat dripping into his mouth, salt stinging his wounds. _I guess he kind of_ is _a scared child_. He whirled around.

  
"Fine!" He cackled, throwing his hands up. Tommy stared up at him with horrified wide eyes.

  
"Never felt better! We're away from..." His mind felt like cotton and he drank in a sobering breath, only to feel another swamp of nausea fill him.

"What was its name?" He stumbled.

Tommy caught him heavily, barely keeping them upright. Wilbur didn't care enough to tense his limp body. A sharp shove, and Tommy pushed him away, though he kept one hand on his arm to stop him from swaying.

Wilbur didn't even feel conscious, but his feet still held him. Barely. He buried his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.

He took another breath; he was afraid he might stop breathing if he didn't.

"Wilbur... when did you last sleep?"

Wilbur felt like his mouth wouldn't open. He just stared.

  
"Wilbur," Tommy's eyebrows were furrowed with concern.

"When did you last eat? Or drink? Or... shower?" Wilbur could see his reflection in the blues of Tommy's eyes. He could see himself, dishevelled and skeleton thin. He raked his fingers through his hair, pleased as his hair flopped stylishly to one side.

Wilbur shrugged.

"Sleep is nothing when it is haunted by my son betraying me. Water is nothing when it reminds me of Sally. And food? Techno forced me to have some potatoes today, or was it yesterday? Anyway, I'm fine." The look of concern on his friend's face only grew.

A cough escaped his lips and he doubled over, crumpling to the ground. He clawed at the stone, sucking in shaky breaths. Sweat poured down his shirt. He glanced up through narrowing vision. Tommy was staggering back, eyes flashing with terror.

"I... wh- Wilbur?" The boy was porcelain white through his dimming vision.

"My L'Manberg! Mine!" He screamed, roaring as he scrabbled at the floor. Drool dripped down his face, his mouth suddenly not dry. He barely saw Tommy sprinting away.

Suddenly the face of his son, cruelly smirking at him as a dictator exiled him from his own game flooded his vision, more vivid than anything else.

Then it was himself, pacing the halls of the ravine, devising a plan to get it back.

And then it was him deciding L'Manberg was a lost cause.

And then his son again.

Raising him. Playing in the mud. Fighting a hundred wars for _him_.

Wilbur felt himself wretch, and he was yanked back to the present.

______________________________

"Techno, do you think he's gonna be okay?"  
  
"He will be. His body's just tired and starved of resources. This is barely a cold, and when he gets his strength back-"

  
"No."

Darkness coated him in a soft blanket. Someone's arms were wrapped around him. Something warm and that tasted like a mix between apples and strawberries was being trickled down his throat. He once might have known what type of potion it was, but now it was a void in his mind.

"No?"

"I mean... when will he be... normal again. In his head." Tommy's voice trembled.

Silence.

  
"I don't know." Technoblade responded.

He realised he was being cradled. Like he was young again. He smelt incense and felt wool wrap around him. He realised he hadn't had a nose that wasn't running or felt warm in a long time. He snuggled deeper into the blanket, where a heat source radiated comfort. It was much cosier here.

The person who was keeping him upright and presumably feeding him the potion stiffly nudged him away, awkwardly.

"Techno, is he awake?"

"In a way." Technoblade was audibly closer to him, but further than last time. _He was the heat source I snuggled against_. Wilbur felt amusement arise. Technoblade always was uncomfortable with cuddles, even when they were kids. _I would give anything to be back there_. Phil always gave hugs. But he hadn't seen him in... years. _I haven't had a hug for a long time_ he realised. He tried to think back. _I always did used to give hugs to Fundy... but he never really returned them_. He sniffed. _Have I... not been hugged for as long as Tommy's been alive?_

He shoved the thought away.

Wilbur rolled away, freeing Techno from his duty to keep Wilbur upright so he didn't choke on the potion. He waited a moment before opening his eyes and peeping out of the blanket he was rolled up in.

Techno was sat on a chair, Tommy leaning on the back of it, both staring at him.

  
"Wilbur," Tommy gave a clearly forced smile, intending to comfort him.

"How are you buddy?" He spoke softly, as if Wilbur was a child too young to understand him.

Wilbur blinked slowly. He could get used to this. To the fireplace that cast warm light. To them being happy. To his head feeling clearer than it had in months, to him being able to think. Barely. But still. He could get used to feeling warm and loved and like he didn't have anyone's world on his shoulders. He could get used to just being Wilbur, no insanity attached.

He felt a wash of melancholy strike him; he might never be fully okay again. But... at least he would be a little better here. This comfort seemed worth it. He realised, through thoughts that were already descending into sluggish haze, that he didn't have to be the villain. _I realised being the hero was something I could never be, and I stand by that. But how could I ever think that the villain was the only other option?_ His heart ached to sink into a life of domesticity. _I could always be... the side character..._ He twiddled with the corner of the blanket. _Being the comic relief sounds good._ Maybe he got so caught up in being a main character that he thought antagonist or protagonist were the only options.

He looked up, meeting Tommy's gaze

He was waiting for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter already done :)) uploading tomorrow. Please leave kudos and comments, motivates me a ton. Those who already have, thank you so much. I grinned when reading them :))
> 
> ALSO! Prepare to have your heart strings tugged as we continue, I have laid the groundworks for you to be heartbroken through small details and choices of words. I'm sorry (but kinda not).


	6. A Dead Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur no :((

Wilbur opened his mouth. But then paused.

He clung to sobriety, clung to the reasoning that seemed so fair and understandable. But it was already melting away. _I... want to do what I want..._ He swallowed. No, no. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back to feeling like he could live the rest of his life like this.

_I want... to destroy my L'Manberg._

Wilbur was a big fan of poetry. Symmetry. Destiny. He believed that he had a purpose to fulfill, something to finish, something to oversee. But he didn't know what it was. Or who. The only thing that it kept pointing to, fate kept pointing to, was L'Manberg. It was his. All of it. How could he be a bystander in his own story? The comic relief in something of his own creation?  
  


There is a fine line between love and hate. Wilbur didn't know when he crossed the line, but sometime during his exile, he knew he had.

A difficult thing to explain is possessiveness. If one has never experienced it, one cannot know what it is like. The irrefutable feeling of owning something. _When someone steals your stuff, surely you wouldn't let them get away with it? If someone steals your stuff and says you cannot use it anymore, and your family and friends agree, surely you wouldn't let them get away with it? Surely if it was your life's work, what you had poured your very soul into, you wouldn't let them get away with it?_ His mind felt blurred.

Maybe once, it was "Our L'Manberg". But it's been "My L'Manberg" for quite some time now. _Because it's mine_. _I can't trust anyone._ The nightmares had taught him that. _The nightmares_.

He had realised that his old self had deteriorated long ago. That he would never be his old self. _Because when someone robs you of your position, and throws you out of your game, you are angry. When you create something that means a lot to you, it is your thing._

How people hammer on names to their items and give them names, so you know who's it is. Like Sapnap's bow. Or Tommy's discs. _Or my L'Manberg_.

Of course, other people can use your things. He didn't know when the residents of L'Manberg turned into the guests of L'Manberg in his mind, but he knew it now. They were guests on his property. His possession. They were cowards and traitors. Every single one, except Tommy, had betrayed him. And known it. And _smiled_ about it.

They _knew_ they were ruining L'Manberg when they exiled him and elected Schlatt.

_Even Tommy doesn't look up to me anymore. He looks at me like I can't even understand English. He calls me insane. He says I'm wrong in the head. Fundy stopped looking up to me a long time ago, it was only so long before he started seeing me as a worthless shit as well._

He would rather see L'Manberg destroyed than ruined. It was his. And no matter who was in charge, they would ruin it if they weren't Wilbur. And he was done being the hero. The one who had migraines from stress and cried with the weight of it all at night. He would have to give that job to Tommy.

"Tommy, I'm okay." He smiled sweetly at Tommy, who was watching him through cautious eyes.

"I'm going to explode from excitement, though. The future seems _fun_."

_____________________

His companions often insisted he eat, drink and bathe at particular times, and Wilbur always complied, but other than that, his mind was riddled with memories. His sickness had completely retreated. His mind no longer felt stuffed. But it was still... shattered like glass. The cracks in his mind had formed gaps in his memory, he had lost his sense of time, he had lost the desire for sleep completely.

His mental state had solidified. Beforehand, when sickness was intertwined with his loneliness, his ideas had been flimsy and easily overridden. But now his strength was back, he knew what he wanted to do. _What I have to do,_ he corrected himself.

L'Manberg plagued his waking hours and, on the rare occasion he got sleep, his dreams too. Flashbacks. The Control Room. Sometimes it wouldn't even be the Control Room. It would be the Pogtopia ravine, or the Camarvan. A lot of the time it wouldn't even be Eret. Fundy would gaze at him, grinning, as he pressed the button. Or Niki, or Tubbo, or Tommy.

The ones with Tommy hurt the most. He was the only person who he had always relied on. _My right-hand man, Tommyinnit._ He thought back to after the Dream duel. One time, it was even Technoblade pushing the button, despite him not even being around at the time. That day he had woken up shaking, wailing as he clawed at his body, checking for wounds. The person who killed him was never Punz, though.

Even though Punz had been the one to kill him. He had never trusted Punz, and he had always been just a henchman. No, the universe wanted him to suffer as he stared into the face of someone he always hated, always trusted, or always loved.

It was always Dream, or Schlatt, or Fundy. Wilbur started to shake.

It was Fundy a lot of the time. He had grown numb to seeing the traitor cacking and calling him a disappointment, a failure, an insane man who was unloved. Somethings he had always feared more than anything when he was in charge of L'Manberg.

Wilbur wore his trench coat partially for style and partially because when he woke up, he could easily check if his chest had been attacked.

Technoblade didn't sleep often either. He was mostly patrolling the ravine, checking for intruders, muttering about voices, or keeping guard over Tommy and him.

Techno was his friend, the only person who shared his ideals over destroying Manberg. _I love Technoblade. I can trust him... right? Unless..._ Paranoia swamped around his head, filling his belly with sick fear. What if he betrays me? _I've been tricked before, and he's good with words_.

He wasn't scared of Techno's strength. Death was something he didn't fear. But betrayal? That was a whole different story. A shiver of panic traced his spine and he curled his fingers around his trench coat, tearing at the frayed fabric. What if I can't trust him?

He had grown up with Techno, and if he had visited before the exile, would have trusted the man with his life twenty times over. He loved Techno as much as he did when they were children, sparring with wooden swords. Wilbur felt his heart strings snap with a throb. Technoblade trusted everyone he offered shelter to, and everyone he trusted, he considered a friend. And Wilbur knew that to Technoblade, calling someone his friend was a declaration of platonic love. Someone he would go to hell and back for.

Tommy didn't know that. To Tommy, friendship was a business deal. To Tommy, if you were his friend, he would either give you up, and you were his ally, or never give up trying to protect you, and you were his favourite person. Wilbur smirked as he remembered he was one of those people Tommy would never stop protecting.

Tommy wanted friendship with Technoblade, Wilbur could see. He considered him a friend, who he would fight to hell and back for. Tommy would also fight to hell and back for Wilbur, Tubbo, and L'Manberg. Only them. Always them.

Wilbur giggled. _Tommy's in for a surprise when me and Technoblade destroy L'Manberg, huh?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos. Comments. Leave em. They feed me more than my parents do.
> 
> Also, if you wanna know why this chapter is titled 'A Dead Spring', it's bc during spring stuff grows, and that juxtaposes with 'dead' or some shit, and ok you get the idea, it's a parallel to his insanity. I'm trying not to turn this into an english essay, okay? But I love symbolism too much :((


	7. Summer Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing Techno in this chap made me cry you mf

Wilbur heard rustling at the entrance. Pausing his fervent pacing, he turned, eyes squinting against the cold bright light. A looming figure cast shadows from the door.

"Technoblade!" Wilbur stretched his arms and stepped towards his companion. Techno stood like a plank, gazing at him darkly. His ally shied away from Wilbur, pulling his cloak around himself protectively.

_Like he's scared of me_. Wilbur gritted his teeth, taking another step forward, silently pleading. _Or he's trying to protect me_. Shaking the thought from his mind, he corrected himself. _No one wants to protect me. He's trying to hurt me_.

One smooth step from Techno as he advanced, and Wilbur stumbled back, cautiously. Techno’s eyes were fixed on him, either like he was eyeing a rabid dog, or a piece of prey.

"Wilbur," Techno's voice was thick and shaky.

"Yeah?" Wilbur's mind whirred as he analysed Techno's movements. Was he regretful? Was he aggressive? Was he planning something? Was he sorry for him?

Footsteps echoed around the potato farm room as the stronger paced forward.

"Get back," Wilbur felt a ball rise in his throat.

Flashing eyes met his. Footsteps grew louder.

"Get back!" Wilbur screamed, throwing himself backwards, tripping over potatoes and landing in the soil with a thump. Shadows loomed as Technoblade stood over him. Wincing, he awaited death.

Through slits of vision, a hand was extended.

"Get up, Wilbur."

"Huh?"

"Get up." This time the anarchist's voice was a demand. _I hold no authority here. I'm helpless. He could kill me right now and I would die. But if I take his hands, I'm admitting I trust him. I would rather die alone than betrayed_. Wilbur ignored the outstretched hand and staggered to his feet, warily staring at his friend.

Techno's inky eyes softened as he sighed.

"Don't you trust me? I just was giving you potatoes. You clearly haven't eaten in a while." His voice rarely betrayed emotion, but now it was evident. Hurt. Techno revealed smallish, earthy food hidden in his cloak as he stared at Wilbur sadly.

Wilbur felt his heartstrings break for what felt like the hundredth time in his life. Guilt burned in his naval. _I'm so sorry that I don't trust you, brother. But now I have to use you_.

"Of course, I do!" Wilbur exclaimed, patting Techno's arm, plastering a fake smile over his face. The other man frowned at him.

"Look, Techno! Me and Tommy think of you as our _friend_. We want the same as you! We'll destroy the government and live happily. Together. Here. As brothers." Wilbur gestured to the farm. He smiled, covering the lie with emotion. Tommy wanted L'Manberg, and explicitly said he only wanted to remove the current government. _But Techno will never help me destroy L'Manberg if he knew that_.

Techno's face was completely still. For a second. Then another. Finally, his face slowly was tugged into a tiny nod.

"That sounds wonderful." Technoblade agreed warmly. Wilbur squeaked as Techno heaved him into a hug.

"Away from violence and government," Techno mused.

"Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing."

"Techno," Wilbur continued, a grunt from Techno in response.

"It'll be just like when we were younger. Me, you and Tommy. No responsibility. No heroes, or villains, or anything. Phil won't be there, but that's fine. We'll have each other."

Wilbur swallowed painfully at the prospect of it. _It's not possible, not if I succeed_. He buried his face in his coat collar. _I'm sorry that I don't regret this_.

"And we'll be okay, and no one will want to hurt us," Wilbur's voice died to a whisper, emotion choking his volume. _I wish this was true_.

Technoblade remained silent, clearly deep in his own mind.

  
"That sounds... okay. You... are you sure?"

"I promise." Wilbur replied.

Wilbur traced his heart with a slash, just like he did with Fundy.

"Cross my heart and hope to die. I promise, Techno."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter? Coming tomorrow? Pog? Those who comment, thanks! 
> 
> Also, foreshadowing? Pog?


	8. Autumn is the Dying Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have blown up L'Manberg, and after pleading with his father, Phil has given him the stabby stab. Little thingy at the end for a bonus :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Depictions of Death and Violence! Blood too. A lot (srry abt that). Bonus in the note at the end.

Wilbur's eyes fluttered, sticky with tears and glittering in the sunset light. He licked his lips, and slicked his dry throat with the blood he tasted. Melting into the floor, he sighed, letting blood gurgle from his oesophagus

He felt Phil nudge closer, his father's warmth fighting the numbness that Wilbur longed for. Wilbur pressed his hand against Phil's cheek, vision sharpening to see his face properly. His father's face was a deep pink and riddled with tears, blond hair catching the sunlight and turning into golden curls. Wilbur was still recovering from seeing his dad appear after being absent from him so long. Still recovering from the fact his father was crying over him.

"Son." Phil whispered hoarsely as he cradled him, just like Techno had when he was sick, but he pulled him closer and clung tighter. Wilbur felt his eyes drift shut and flopped his head onto his dad's shoulder, feeling the blood from his mouth drip onto Phil's coat. It tasted like iron, and smelt like a mixture of blood, fresh laundry and sandalwood.

Fresh laundry with sandalwood was Phil's signature scent. Up until L'Manberg, Wilbur had always used that scent to remind himself of his father. _I guess the stress made me forget to use it._ He drank in that smell. The aroma dredged up memories long buried in time and madness.

_

Wilbur had run with Techno, laughing as he prodded the younger with a wooden sword, cut short with a yelp as Techno returned the blow. Wilbur had lunged again with determination, only to lurch backwards as Technoblade struck again, harder this time, on his chest. He had fallen in a heap on the floor, grinning up at the pink haired boy. Technoblade hadn't returned the smile, his sober expression remaining on his face. For a few seconds. Then, he his face had softly melted into a smile, eyes crinkling and a toothy grin making his face round. He had offered his hand to Wilbur, and Wilbur had taken it, pulling himself to his feet. Techno made his heart warm and comforted when he smiled as a kid, however rare it was. _But that was quite rarely, and I haven't seen him smile since._ Wilbur thought woefully.

They had turned to Phil, calling for them. His father had born a viridian cloak that day, _he's wearing the same now_ , and it had glimmered emerald in the sunlight. He had beamed at the children, extending his arms as they buried themselves in hug. Wilbur had drunk in his earthy and soft fragrance, _just like I'm doing now_ , and let himself relax in his father's warmth.

"I have a surprise for you, my little champion." He had said to Wilbur.

_

Wilbur didn't have the strength to physically smile as he remembered the surprise had been Tommy.

As the memory faded away, he let himself fall limp in Phil's arms. The numbness kept the pain at bay, and Phil combatted the numbness. Made him feel the sword that was sliced through him slightly more. But in a way, he didn't mind. He deserved the pain, and amongst that hurt, there was gladness. Comfort. He could feel his father hug him again, even if the bloodied sword driven between his ribs made Phil have to hold him awkwardly. _Dad_.

He felt his hands smack to the floor, deadweight. He felt his skull loll away from his father and heard Phil whimper and prop his head up once more. Wilbur finally gave in to the only question left in his head. It felt like he had bled out all the rest.

"Dad."

He heard Phil clear his throat.

"Mm?" His voice was hoarse.

"Do you love me?" Wilbur felt tears trickle down his face. He didn't know who's they were.

"Yes." Phil replied instantly, pulling him tighter.

"Dad, are you proud of me?" Wilbur realised he could barely breathe, let alone talk. His voice was muffled. Talking only made more crimson well up against his lips and soak his trench coat more. But his message must have been received, because he felt his body shake as Phil was racked with a single sob. He waited for him to respond.

"No." His father's reply was that of a man who had just died. _Which is odd, because I'm the one dying, not him_. Wilbur giggled internally, more blood oozing from his wound. He ignored hurt that spread within him from that one word. It hurt more than seeing his dad weep,

Wilbur forced his eyes open fully. His vision was so blurry he could barely make out Phil's face. A pinkish haze where sniffles emitted from was what he assumed to be his dad's face. His pupils glanced down, seeing something a glimmering silver coated in vivid red. _The sword_.

"Then I'm r-ready." He croaked. A shape moved in his vision.

"For what?" His father's voice seemed very far away.

"Death, Phil." He murmured. Another sniffle echoed slightly in the room that had been blown open.

Wilbur gasped as the sword was removed, his body trembling slightly. Something hot and thick started gushing from the wound, soaking them.

Wilbur struggled and somehow propped himself up, suddenly clear sighted and strong enough. He felt Phil flinch with surprise. He could see the blown up L'Manberg crater, and a crowd of familiar faces he couldn't place the names of, staring at him. _They hate me. They wanted me dead, and that was what they got._ He felt a smile crack his face, a drop of blood, or was it drool, pattering to the floor. But from the sea of people, he could make out one of them. _Fundy_. His son's auburn hair was glinting in the sunlight.

Tommy was stood there too, slumped. As if he was defeated. A broken boy. _No. I need him to be a hero for me_. His mind drifted back to the note Tommy had scribbled him, calling Wilbur his hero, as he saw the child looking at him as if he were looking at his worst nightmare. _It's your job now_. The teen looked exhausted. Him and Techno had finished fighting, for now. _I sowed the seeds of that war and... I'm the only one that has won_.

Techno stared at him hollowly. As if he didn't believe it. That Wilbur had betrayed him _Goodbye, Technoblade_.

Dragging his attention to Fundy, Wilbur pulled his hand up, staring at his son. Fundy was the most that mattered to him, from the moment he was born. _My sweet son. My handsome son. My brave champion. I love you, forever and always, as long as I have a soul. I promise_. His eyes flickered back to Tommy for a moment. _And I promise I will help you, Tommy. You are the hero now. Protect Tubbo._ Wilbur let his eyes rest onto Fundy, until his vision turned to darkness as he lost copious amounts of blood.

Finally, Wilbur drew his hand back to the gaping ravine in his chest. It was located right where his heart was. He traced the line of the gash made, feeling torn flesh. Swearing a promise just like he did when Fundy was a kid.

That's when his final, silent words on this plane of existence were sealed.

That's when his heart stopped, and all his promises were revealed to have been broken.

That's when Wilbur Soot let himself die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _________________
> 
> Ghostbur realised he existed. Spawning into here, the void, was something he didn't remember. He remembered good times, but where they were now, as he swam in the nothingness, he didn't know.
> 
> As he stumbled around, his eyes caught on something.
> 
> How do I remember him? I only remember good things...
> 
> Through the darkness, there was one thing visible. Maybe it was a white outline. Or maybe it was darker than the void itself. But the shape was increasingly definite. Humanoid. Curling horns. Like the devil. Maybe much worse, depending on what you think of him. Ghostbur mused.
> 
> Good evening, JSchlatt... Care to talk?
> 
> -bonus fin-
> 
> There it is! I hope you enjoyed. Kudos and comment if you enjoyed :)) maybe check out some of my other works. The Fire of L'Manberg is quite similiar to this in the family dynamic and angst but ends happily!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments help so much to keep me motivated!


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